


To The Void With That

by The_Jade_Goblin



Series: The Elf and the Magister [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 04:11:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5897740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Jade_Goblin/pseuds/The_Jade_Goblin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He liked him. Maybe a little too much. They were surely too different to work right? Flirting was fun yes, but flirting only went so far. Dorian often found himself in these situations. And he just wanted to break the cycle. He couldn't scare Assan away too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They had finally cleared out the Venatori from this part of the Hinterlands, they would not trouble the farmlands anymore and Assan for once was glad to be away from Haven, though he could not say the same for his other companions. The _shemlen_ amused him, so occupied were they with the comforts of home; it was all they thought about half the time. They missed a warm bed and good food, solid walls between them and the wilderness. It was a comfort Assan would never understand himself, at home as he was among the trees and the wild.

“You fight well,” Assan commented, casually using the water from the stream to wash the blood off his face.

“You sound surprised,” Dorian smirked.

Assan raised an eyebrow, and grinned. “You’re a noble from Tevinter who wears robes as bright as day and only practises flashy magic. Of course I’m surprised.”

Dorian laughed. “Well I’m glad I surprise you so much,”

Absently, Assan peeled off his gauntlets and rolled back his sleeves, hissing as he discovered the deep cut on his left him that had been stinging and throbbing during the battle.

“You’re hurt,” Dorian looked over and noticed the wound with a frown.

“It’s nothing,” Assan said. “I have something to stop the bleeding in my pack, until we get back to camp. I’ll have Stitches have a look at it,”

“Why don’t you just let me fix it? I’ll have it mended in a minute,” Dorian said taking a step towards him.

“ _No_!”

Dorian had never seen a man leap to his feet so quick before, but in a second flat Assan was several feet away from him, looking like a startled halla. He must have realised his reaction from Dorian’s shocked expression, because he forced himself to calm down, and gave a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” he muttered in embarrassment, getting some supplies from his pack for his arm. “I just don’t like magic being used on me,”

“There are benefits to healing magic you know, and it’s not as if I’m going to make it worse.” Dorian argued.

“I appreciate it Dorian but please,” Assan pleaded. “I don’t feel comfortable with magic.”

“So you fear us.” Dorian said flatly.

“I don’t fear mages, but magic itself.” Assan replied. “The mages in our company are perfectly decent. But magic can do damage beyond the scope of swords, I can’t freeze a man to the spot with an arrow, and just look at the Breach.”

“But magic –”

“Has many benefits I know,” Assan cut off. “I’ve no trouble with mages like you Dorian, only the ones that use their power for evil. Just as I have issues with soldiers who use their weapons for bad things.”

That seemed to pacify Dorian, and they were off once again, headed back to camp.

“If you have no problem with mages like me, why will you not let me help? If you truly know I mean no harm you would not be so frightened,” Dorian asked.

“I know you mean to help Dorian, but I would prefer if you didn’t help me with magic. I’ve had…terrible experiences with magic, so much so that the feeling of magic on my body makes me sick and dizzy, even helpful magic.”

“I…hesitate to ask what happened to you to give you such a reaction,” Dorian said looking horrified.

“It’s…not a story for walking about,” Assan gave a smile to reassure him. “I might tell you one day, but not now. It’s not a pretty tale.”

“I daresay, and I’m honestly not sure if I even want to know. But I’m here, if you ever do wish to tell me.”

Assan smiled warmly. “You know something? You might just be the one good thing about Tevinter,”

This time, for once it was Assan’s turn to watch Dorian blush. Chuckling, he wandered into camp and hailed Stiches to attend to his arm. Dorian watched as he waved off Solas and Vivienne when they offered to heal him, even Dalish was turned away as Stiches attended to Assan’s arm. Dorian didn’t know much about the elf, but he knew enough to know he was a reasonable person, and always strived to see everyone’s point of view, so his blatant refusal to have magic anywhere near him concerned Dorian. He wanted to know why he was so scared of magic being used on him, but he wasn’t sure if he’d like to find out. Assan was very curious, everything about him mystified Dorian, he was intriguing and he wanted to know more. If only he knew what to ask.

Night fell over the Hinterlands as their party readied themselves for bed, Assan sharpening his daggers and re-stringing his bow by the fire, and Dorian using the sudden quiet to read, though his glances over the book at Assan must have been more frequent than he thought because the elf in question looked up eventually and chuckled.

“You know Dorian, if you’re going to stare at me all night, maybe make it a bit more subtle yes?”

“You’re a hard man not to stare at,” Dorian said simply.

“Well when you’ve got pointy ears and a face covered in ink I guess you get used to being stared at,” Assan commented.

“That’s not what I –” but Dorian’s panic subsided when Assan started laughing.

“I’m kidding Dorian, should see your face right now. Priceless.”

“Ass.” Dorian grumbled.

Assan just laughed. Dorian liked the sound. Sometimes it was a deep rumble from low in his chest, and other times it was light and more akin to a giggle than anything. This time it was light. It was adorable, like his smile, and like everything about Assan as he was discovering.

“You know the thing I love most about you _shem_? You good _shem_ that is, not the ones that look at me and spit.” Assan went on. “You good ones try so hard to not offend, so it’s easy to freak you out and act offended, it’s cute to see you try to make up for what you think is a mistake.”

“Oh sure, tease me why not? I suppose we can’t all be amused in the same way,” Dorian shrugged, though he smirked as he spoke, and in return he got to hear Assan’s deep rumble of a laugh.

“It’s just refreshing. Most of the time _shemlen_ try their hardest to insult me, so it’s nice to hear people so concerned about offending me.” But Assan paused with a frown, and looked up at Dorian. “Is that offensive? That word?”

“ _Shemlen_?”

“Yes. I never thought about it until now, are you bothered by it?”

“Not exactly. It’s what you call us isn’t it?”

Assan gave an almost-nervous laugh. “It is…but it’s not exactly a compliment Dorian. We call humans _shemlen_ as an insult, because we believe we’re superior. It means ‘quick children’, my people are no longer immortal but the lies of humans were once just the blink of an elf. Dalish look on humans as if they were children, but to some, like me, it’s just the word we use to name humans. Growing up I thought about it very little, I thought it justified since the teachings of my people have been all I’ve ever known, and my past interaction with humans haven’t been exactly pleasant, to put it mildly.”

“Considering it was my people that destroyed yours I’m not surprised,” Dorian murmured, now having abandoned his book in favour of staring into the fire. “Humans took everything from the elves, it’s all I heard about growing up. Tevinter history glorifies the fall of Arlathan, it’s one of the things my people are so proud of achieving, so I don’t blame you.”

“Dorian, you speak as if it were _your_ fault,” Assan frowned. “It was thousands of years ago, you weren’t responsible for that.”

“No but my countrymen were, and your people still suffer to this day,”

“My people are a shadow of what we were that’s true.” Assan admitted. “But I blame the humans of Ages past, not the ones of the present. I blame humans now for the _continuation_ of our suffering because no one would lift a finger to help us even if we let them, all the _shemlen_ do is see our pointed ears and think they can mistreat us because of it, and they _can_. But not all are like that, I’ve met humans among us who have been nothing but pleasant to me, you’re not all bad Dorian.” He gave a quick grin. “Some of you _are_ quite easy on the eyes after all, for humans.”

That earned him a smile, one he felt very accomplished in getting.

“Stop brooding,” he chuckled.

“I’m not brooding,” Dorian defended.

“Sulking then.” Assan smirked. “Whatever it is that’s making your shoulders sag like that, it’s making me so _very_ sad, don’t make me come over there and massage you better.”

He burst into laughter at Dorian’s reaction, trying to stifle the noise with his hands so as not to wake the others. Dorian simply smiled. He let him tease him, Assan didn’t laugh very often, according to Varric the man hadn’t so much as smiled until after the mages were brought into Haven. Now he smiled a little sometimes, and laughed a little more, but it was still rare. He probably missed his clan, and was most likely feeling vulnerable around so many humans, Dorian could hardly blame him for being wary of their company. But he seemed perfectly comfortable now, and for some reason that made Dorian happy. Winning wars and closing holes in the sky wasn’t easy after all, and not being completely miserable the whole time went a long way. So they teased each other, back and forth like bickering siblings over the fire, until at least retiring to bed.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one is a bit short

“Why are you elves so…so…” Dorian struggled to find the word.

“Pretty?” Assan suggested, glancing at Dorian from where he sat on jetty of the frozen lake.

The frozen air from the ice and snow of Haven whirled around them, chilling Dorian to the bone. He was getting used to the cold, but not fast enough. Assan however, looked completely unaffected.

“Didn’t want to use that word, but yes.” Dorian said.

Assan chuckled. “I personally think we look rather plain, and we’re not exactly that diverse. Humans are very different, you never see the same face twice. But apparently humans find elves very attractive. I think it’s got something to do with the eyes?”

“They’re beautiful,” Dorian let slip softly.

He froze when Assan’s green eyes turned to him, but the elf smiled. “ _Ma_ _serannas_ ,” he whispered. “Elves do have the best eyes I’m told,”

“No, I think it’s just you.” Dorian replied honestly. “Solas and Sera hardly compare. Your eyes look like the forest Assan, very green.”

Assan grinned. “Well now you’re just flattering me.”

“I’m a very flattering person yes,”

“But I notice you pay me special attention though,”

“I like flattering you. Should I stop?”

“Don’t you dare,” came the amused grin.

Dorian winked. “As you wish,”

Assan’s embarrassment kicked in at that moment and he flushed and looked away. It seemed that he was skilled in the art of flirting, but very shy about it. Dorian wondered why. He wasn’t complaining, it was utterly adorable.

“Anyway, is my face really so pretty it tore you away from your book? What are you reading Dorian, you’re always reading.” Assan said, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Dorian grinned and let his embarrassment be. “I didn’t bring much with me from Tevinter, being on the run suddenly and all, but I brought this. It’s mainly notes from mine and Alexius’s research.”

“Time magic?”

“Among other things yes. I’m not fool enough to try and mimic his magic, but theoretically his magic _should_ have been impossible. It still _is_ impossible, and yet it happened to us. I’m trying to work out if anyone else could replicate it.”

Assan looked up at the Breach, and tilted his head. “You said the two of you theorised for years about time magic, and it never worked until now. Could it be the influence of the Breach?”

Dorian followed his gaze. “You think the Veil prevents time travel being possible, and now the Veil’s been ripped in half, time restrictions no longer apply?”

“Alexius did say in his journal in that dark future that he wasn’t able to go back to before the Breach was made.”

“Yes…that could be it…Assan you’re a genius!”

Assan laughed so hard he almost fell off the jetty. “Just call me a magical theorist then!” he cried. “I’m surprised you didn’t think of that, you’re the smart one.”

“Oh hush you,” Dorian smiled. “You just keep being adorable over there, I’ll do the magical researching.”

Assan giggled and turned once again to look over at the Breach, trying to ignore Dorian’s eyes watching him.

“Assan can I ask you something?”

“Anything Dorian,”

“Really?” Dorian smirked. “ _Anything_?”

Assan grinned. “You can _ask_ anything, but I might not answer everything.”

“Tease.”

He laughed. “Ask Dorian,”

“I’ve seen you throw out the boots Josephine keeps giving you a lot, and I have to ask…don’t your feet _ever_ hurt? You never wear shoes. Solas neither,”

Assan burst into another fit of laughter, and ended up leaning heavily on Dorian’s shoulder, smirking over at him.

“You, are so cute.” He said.

“ _I’m_ cute? Have you seen yourself?” Dorian said in disbelief.

Assan chuckled. “Dalish elves don’t need shoes Dorian, we were raised in the woods, our feet are tough, we can handle the terrain. Personally I don’t understand how humans stand not touching the ground. It makes me crazy if I can’t feel the grass under my feet. I’m very connected to the world around me Dorian, I sleep in trees to feel comfortable, I’d never seen a city in my life until I was 18.”

“Do you miss that?” Dorian asked. “The woods, your clan.”

“Very much so,” Assan admitted. “I’d like to go back to them one day, if I’m able. I don’t think my life will ever go back to as simple as it used to be, too much has happened to me. But I’ll be happy if I can return to the forest when this is all over.”

“You make it sound idyllic.”

“That’s what Josie said. It wouldn’t be true for you, you’re from Minrathous, you’re used to the city. It’s a beautiful city, but it’s too busy, too loud, too crowded. The woods are calm and peaceful.”

“You’ve been to Minrathous?” Dorian’s eyes widened.

Assan froze, mouth hanging open in shock. “I…yes…once. A while ago. It’s not important,”

Dorian frowned.

“I…I should check in on Leliana, excuse me.” Assan was quick to get up and head back to the wall, leaving a frowning Dorian to muse over what he’d let slip.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Dorian sat with his head bowed, trying to breathe evenly. It wasn’t working. He found himself praying as he crouched there listening to Cassandra, Josephine, Cullen and Leliana argue around one of the fires. Assan would shut them up and make them work together if he were here. But he wasn’t, he was still in Haven, buried under mounds of snow no doubt, most likely dead. Dorian felt his anxiety rise.

He could still see Assan standing there against that Archdemon, glaring up at this…this Elder One…pleading with the others to go, to go with Cullen and leave this to him. Dorian’s sorry he ever left the elf’s side. He’d never see him again now.

He, and many others, knew they’d seen the end of that elf when the snow buried Haven. Cullen and his men sent our searches once their people had fled to safety, but hours upon hours passed, and soon it had been two days since anyone had seen the Herald of Andraste. He was gone. He almost felt like crying. He sighed, glancing up at everyone still arguing about what to do next.

Cassandra was panicking, without Assan their only hope of closing rifts, and of defeating the creature that caused the Breach, was totally gone. Cullen, like the hammer he was, insisted on treating Corypheus like a nail, and assault him with their remaining forces. Josephine insisted they needed somewhere for the Inquisition to settle, tend to their wounded, rebuild their infrastructure. And Leliana just wanted to know what the hell was going on.

“Idiots.” Varric muttered.

Dorian slid his eyes over to the dwarf. “Tell me about it,” he answered.

“Reminds me of the arguments we used to get into in Kirkwall, arguing about what to do about the city. Isabella and Aveline could argue till the cows came home, and Aveline would go head-to-head with Hawke, they always disagreed on everything.”

“How did anything ever get done?”

“Oh they agreed on the outcome they wanted, but their methods were the problem. Hawke never minded getting dirty, going outside the law, but Aveline’s Guard-Captain and a stickler for rules. Then you had Broody and Blondie, always bickering about mages and Templars, honestly listening to those two gave me the biggest headache, I’ve no idea how Hawke puts up with Fenris half the time. He’s a good friend but the elf broods like a champion.”

“He sounds utterly charming,” Dorian said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh he’s a barrel of laughs alright. Hawke must have seen something in him none of us ever did. Ah geez, as bad as this shit is, I wish she was here right now.”

“Would having her here help?”

“Not this shit no, we’d still be ass-deep in trouble, but Hawke would keep everyone’s spirits up, she’s always been good at that. One time these dwarves sent Carta assassins after her to settle her uncle’s debts, but when they got to the mansion Hawke was waiting for them. She threw open the door and invited them in for a game of Wicked Grace. We were beating them three rounds to one by the time the city guard showed up. Two of them became regulars at our weekly game. She has that effect on people, trust me, if Hawke were here, we wouldn’t be sitting here feeling sorry for ourselves.”

Dorian sighed. “If _Assan_ was here we wouldn’t be sitting here feeling sorry for ourselves.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Varric agreed with a sigh of his own. “A real shame that, I liked that funny elf. He reminded me a lot of Hawke in a way.”

“Can we _not_ speak of him in the past tense?” Dorian said sharply.

“You’re right, gotta remain positive. Have to believe he’s still out there and kicking.” Varric said, but his heart wasn’t in the words.

Dorian didn’t pray as much as he should, didn’t put the faith he had in the Maker to the lengths of people like Cassandra, he didn’t sing the Chant of Light as often as he should, or go to Chantry services often. But Dorian swore the Maker himself had come down from the Black City and delivered the Herald to them in the hours that followed. He couldn’t even breathe as he watched the elf – so tiny and broken and blue from the cold – being carried in to Mother Giselle and the other wounded, unconscious from exhaustion. Never before had Dorian been so relieved, his knees buckled and he had to take a moment to sit, watching anxiously as Mother Giselle and her team of Healers worked over the Herald, desperate to warm him up and treat his injuries before infection took hold.

The next night arrived and Assan still hadn’t woken up. They had been camped out in this snowy valley now for four days, and even with the Herald returned to them, the leaders bickered and came to no solid conclusions. Dorian wanted to beat their heads against each other.

“Can they think of nothing better to do than bicker right now? It’s not helping.” Solas muttered angrily. “They’re just going around in circles.”

Dorian leaned against the post of the infirmary’s tent, glancing back at the older elf as he tended to Assan. He was replacing the bandage and sling for Assan’s broken arm, and had taken off his shirt to do so. It was a sight Dorian hadn’t exactly seen before, as Assan was a very private person, but now as he looked at the bare expanse of pale skin, he noticed deep scars down his back. Vertical cuts, some short and some running the length of his spin, some deep and still a raw red, and others pale and almost faded. The scars would have been very deep when they were made, for the skin tissue around the red edges were jagged and unevenly healed. The wounds had been infected before healing. They weren’t recent, they looked much older. But where could Assan have gotten such horrific scars? They _must_ have come from Haven. The Healers must have done well in their job.

Dorian shivered as darker thoughts pressed his mind about the scars, and he looked away, turning instead to stare at their arguing advisors again. He saw Vivienne roll her eyes from her tent and couldn’t help but agree. These fools were not getting anywhere. Not that Dorian could claim to know what to do next, or how to fix this situation, but he knew arguing wouldn’t solve anything.

“ _Da’len_ no, you must rest.” Solas murmured behind him.

“Those idiots will argue themselves unconscious _hahren_ , I have to make them see reason or our people here will die.”

Assan’s voice was very soft, barely above a whisper, and weak, but it was there. Dorian felt his whole body seize up and relax all at once. He was awake. Alive and _awake_.

“ _Da’len_ another heated voice to the argument will go nowhere. Rest here, and when you are able I wish to have a word with you, it may help our situation.”

A sigh. “ _Ma nuvenin hahren_.”

“Good. Now lay back, and I leave you in the hands of Mother Giselle, she’ll fetch me should you need me.”

“ _Ma_ _serannas_.”

Solas passed Dorian on his way, and giving him a knowing look, gestured back at Assan with his chin. Go to him, he was saying. And Dorian did. He turned on his heel and entered the tent, eager to see Assan living and breathing with his own eyes.

“You look gorgeous,” he teased the minute he laid eyes on Assan.

The elf chuckled weakly. “Oh leave me alone, pesky mage.” He muttered. “You’re so cruel to me,”

“I’m fantastic to you.”

“If you say so,” the fond smile on Assan’s face warmed Dorian’s heart.

“Nice to see you awake, you’ve given us all quite the scare. Don’t go off doing that again you hear?”

“Try not to. No promises.” Assan began coughing, and Dorian rushed to help him sit, keeping a hand on his now covered back in concern.

He could feel the scarred tissue under the thin material. It made him shiver. He let go. Assan sighed, using his good hand to move his hair out of his eyes.

“So, what’s new?” he asked. “As far as I know, we’re stuck in this middle-of-nowhere valley, an ancient darkspawn Magister is walking around with an Archdemon and is bent on destroying the Inquisition and taking this Mark of mine, and our number of wounded is beyond counting and the chance of their and our survival is getting slimmer every day.”

“You’ve pretty much covered it.” Dorian shrugged. “The only thing we have on our side is morale.”

“Morale is up? Seriously?” Assan said disbelievingly.

“We watched you die.” Dorian said simply. “And then you came back. That’s twice now you’ve cheated death. Everyone firmly believes you’re the Maker’s Chosen, it gives them hope.”

“I’m not the Maker’s Chosen,” Assan scowled. “If I was chosen by anyone it was Mythal. And I didn’t die, I fell down a mine and survived an avalanche.”

“Like it’s that easy to do?” Dorian smirked. “Chosen or not, you’re incredibly good at surviving the impossible. It makes it seem like this may just be possible.”

Assan sighed. “Terrific. More people to let down if I fail.”

“We believe in you. _I_ believe in you.”

Assan glanced at him, and smiled softly, looking down at his hands. “Thank you Dorian.” He murmured. “I don’t feel like I am worthy of that faith, but I appreciate it.”

Dorian shrugged. “Happy to help.”

Assan chuckled, and got off the cot slowly. “I should go see what Solas wanted to discuss, then make these idiots stop arguing for five minutes so we can figure out what to do.”

“Do come see me when you’re done,” Dorian grinned. “I do enjoy your company,”

“You Lord Pavus, are quite the charmer,” Assan smirked slyly. “How can anyone resist such an offer? I’ll see you later then,”

Dorian chuckled. “Until later.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Assan slipped in beside Dorian as they climbed the snowy mountains after Solas, the rest of the Inquisition scattered along the mountainside.

“Cold enough for you Dorian?” he teased, seeing Dorian’s skin turning blue.

Dorian managed a smirk. “Just about. Did you need something Assan?”

“Do I always have to need something? I can’t just be here to admire your good looks?” Assan teased.

It could have been the snow, but Assan could have sworn there was a blush on his cheeks. Dorian chuckled.

“Well I guess that’s fair, I am quite handsome after all.”

“This is true.” Assan smirked. “By human standards anyway.”

“Hey!”

Assan laughed as Dorian shoved him.

“We’re friends, aren’t we Dorian?” he asked tilting his head to one side.

Dorian found that utterly adorable. He wished he could tell him that. He smiled. “I’d like to think so yes, I’ve never had a friend before.”

“Never?”

“Well there was Felix, but he and I are not so much friends are more of…hm. I’m not sure what you’d call us actually. I only know him because Alexius was my mentor, but I know him quite well.”

“That’s a friend Dorian,” Assan smiled, though the idea that Dorian didn’t know how to recognise a friend was slightly alarming.

“Huh. I suppose you’re right. Then we must be friends also, yes?”

Assan laughed. “That’s what I asked you silly, you can’t throw my question back at me. Yes, then we’re friends. Satisfied?”

“Very.” Dorian smirked.

Assan shook his head fondly. “I wanted to know something, about Tevinter.”

“You seem to know a great deal already,” Dorian pointed out.

“Yes but my question is somewhat more personal. It’s about the slavery there.”

“Ah. Yes, there is that.” Dorian said uncomfortably.

“You’re a noble, your household must have had slaves. I…guess I wanted to know what you thought of that.”

“My family treats their slaves quite well, but that’s not always the case.” Dorian said. He scratched the back of his head in thought. “Honestly I didn’t think much about it until I came south. Back home…it’s just how it is. You in the south get so loud and fussy about it, but in Tevinter slaves are everywhere, you don’t question it. I’m certain many slaves do not.”

Assan stared in shock. “You mean that’s it? You don’t question it?” he cried. “How can you sit there and not question it? We don’t have slaves in the south and we do just fine!”

Dorian’s dismissive attitude towards slavery alarmed him. Was he wrong about him? How could he be so utterly blind to that injustice?

“In the south you have alienages and slums, both human and elven, the desperate have no way out. Back home a man can sell himself, as a slave he can earn a position of respect, comfort, and could even support a family.” His voice was patient, but in actuality his patience was already running thin. He hated the South’s opinion on slavery, especially when they knew nothing about it nor anything about his homeland. Friends or not, he wouldn’t let it be judged by this elf! “Some slaves are treated poorly it’s true, but do you honestly think inescapable poverty is better?”

“’Treated poorly’? Is _that_ what you call it?” Assan said savagely. “At least they’re free!”

“You think people choose to be poor and depressed?” Dorian snapped. “I don’t know what it’s like to be a slave true, and I never thought much about it until I came here. But I suspect that you don’t know either.”

“Oh don’t I?”

The hard look in Assan’s eyes, and the flat tone in which he spoke made Dorian stop, and stare. He remembered the scars that littered Assan’s back, when Solas was tending to his wounds after Haven. He had just assumed they were from the battle, but now…

A whip?

A slaver’s whip.

That’s where those scars came from.

Assan gripped Dorian by the lapels, his grip as tight as an iron clamp. He glared at the mage, pure rage in his eyes. He’d never seen the elf so angry before.

“I like you Dorian, I do, but that can change very easily.” He snarled. “If you want to continue to be part of this Inquisition, you must learn one thing – people are not toys for you to play with. Slavery is _wrong_. _Tevinter_ is wrong. _My people_ do not deserve to be bought and sold like _objects_. _I_ did not deserve it. No one does. My people are not _things_ Dorian, _I_ am not a thing, we will _never_ submit to the _shemlen_ again and we deserve _better_ than what your people have in store for us.”

“Assan… I –”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Assan growled. “I was beginning to think you were different Dorian, you had me convinced that you were the one good Tevinter mage in the world, but now I see I was right. You hide behind your pretty words but you’re a liar. You’re just as bad as your countrymen, so don’t pretend to put on airs and be better than them. You’re not fooling me anymore, I won’t be that stupid again.”

He stalked off ahead, not letting Dorian catch up as he scrambled higher up the rocks to Solas. He managed to catch up some hours later, but Assan would not even look at him. It was a lonely trek to Skyhold after that, Assan was the only one who would talk to him, now he was stuck riling up Cassandra and Vivienne for entertainment. Assan successfully gave him the cold shoulder weeks after Skyhold was established, and it was then that Dorian decided he’d had enough of beating himself up. He set out to track down the newly appointed Inquisitor, though it wasn’t as easy as it should have been. Assan’s new position kept him busier than a bee, and he never took Dorian on field missions even though he knew he could benefit from his skills. Eventually however, he caught him walking up to his quarters, and took the opportunity to follow him, Assan not noticing his presence until he turned to lay down his weapons by the door. When he saw him, his face contorted into the usual scowl Dorian had come to expect from him.

“Get out of here.” He spat, turning and dumping his bow and quiver on the bed.

“No.” Dorian said firmly. “You’ve avoided me long enough, I’m here to end this little silent business.”

“Oh are you?” Assan sneered. “And pray tell how?”

Dorian decided he didn’t like cruelty on Assan’s face, it was far too handsome to have its features twisted by rage. He would have to fix that.

“I came to apologise Assan, something I should have done the day I insulted you, but then again you haven’t made it easy to approach you.”

“I wonder why.”

Dorian winced. Not the best thing he could have said, obviously.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think…on what you said. About the slaves in Tevinter.” Dorian said, having the decency to look ashamed of himself.

Assan raised an eyebrow in interest, his face still hostile.

“I want to know what happened to you.”

Assan’s face clouded in darkness. “No, you don’t.”

“I do,” Dorian stepped forward, causing Assan to step back. “Please. I want to understand, my people have done so much wrong, I want to learn more.”

“I am not going to be your research!” Assan snapped. “Telling you will achieve nothing. You may oppose slavery afterwards, but only because you’ll pity me! Not liking slavery because of what happened to me is not the same thing as hating it on principle.”

Dorian lowered his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“No, you didn’t think.” Assan growled. “You’re part of the problem. People never think, they never care, they never notice! I will not be your sob story Dorian, I refuse to accept your pathetic pity! You should oppose slavery because it is wrong, not because someone you know was forced into a life worse than death.”

“Assan I’m sorry…” Dorian didn’t know what else to say.

“Not sorry enough. Your sorries will never be good enough.” Assan stalked towards Dorian, forcing him against the railing of the staircase.

Having pinned him against the stone railing, Assan raised his pocket dagger to within an inch of Dorian’s face.

“You think you know loss Dorian? You think you know suffering? You know _nothing_.” He snapped. “How does it feel to have your life in someone else’s hands, a dagger so close your breath clouds the blade? That is the reality I was locked in for two years, the reality that many are still locked in. You think I got my scars by chance? _Your Magisters put them there.”_

He lowered his dagger, but gripped Dorian’s collar threateningly. “You know _nothing_ of the suffering of slaves. You cannot understand the pain we go through every day, and you will _never_ understand. You’re a clever man Dorian, I would have thought you were smart enough to use that brain to see what is right and what is wrong, to have empathy for those below you. Do not _ever_ compare the life of a poor man to a man who has no life at all. I would rather live free and in squalor than have my life not be my own.”

Assan let him go, and Dorian stumbled back against the railing. He wished he’d just hit him or something, because the cold hared in his eyes, the venom in his voice, was too much to bare. He had opened a deep scar in Assan’s life, and nothing would fix it now.

“I never…knew.” Dorian murmured. “I’ve been contributing to your people’s suffering my entire life. I never thought…for a moment…beyond myself. I… I am sorry. Assan I’m so sorry.”

He meant it sincerely, but he had no way of knowing if Assan could ever forgive him. Assan sighed. Dorian looked up, to see the elf shaking his head. When he looked up next, his eyes were softer.

“Do not be sorry, your sorries don’t achieve anything.” Assan said, his voice calmer, and his expression less venomous. “Learn. Learn and grow and change things. Your pity doesn’t help, your actions do. Learn to be better Dorian, that’s all I ask.”

“I will.” Dorian nodded. “I promise I will.”

Assan slowly gave a small smile. “Good.” He said softly. “I have to apologise Dorian, I would not harm a friend but the subject has always made me so angry it is hard to control my actions.”

“I would have deserved no less.” Dorian said.

“Even still, if I had hurt you I would not be very happy with myself.” Assan frowned. “I have always tried to distance myself from what the Magisters turned me into.”

“You are better than them. A better man worth a hundred of them.”

“Better men, you’ll find, are often those with nothing, but those who give everything nonetheless. Not the jewelled nobles in their castles.”

“I’m beginning to learn that, yes.” Dorian smiled.

Assan smiled back. “Good, that means I don’t have to kill you. I would have been very upset if I’d had to.”

“Does this mean we can…continue our friendship?”

Assan stepped forward. “If you would like. I admit I have missed your charming company,”

“I would like that very much.”

Assan smiled. “Very well _lethallin._ ”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?” he wondered.

Assan gave a small smile. “Friend,” he whispered.

And so it was.


	5. Chapter 5

“ _Lethallin!”_ Dorian looked up from the muddy ground at the call, seeing Assan reaching for his arm.

Dorian reached up, letting Assan pulled him up a steep set of rocks. When they reached the top, far above the others, they crouched in the shrubbery and looked down over the valley below. The salty air of the Storm Coast was doing neither of them any favours, Dorian swore if he ever agreed to come with the crazy elf again it would be a million years too soon.

“Look at that _lethallin_ ,” Assan was smiling as he pointed down into the valley.

There was a herd of halla making their way slowly down the mountainside. Dorian blinked, surprised to see them here of all places.

“Are there Dalish here?” he asked.

Assan shook his head. “Not a clan, but the halla are not exclusive to my people. They can live almost anywhere, even here in this climate.”

Assan smiled, looking down at the herd. “Aren’t they beautiful Dorian? Such gentle creatures, the halla, they are the friend of the Dalish, they pull our aravels in return for our care and respect. Halla even let some Dalish ride them,”

Dorian grinned at the beautifully fond glint in Assan’s eyes. “Did you ride halla?” he asked.

“I’m a Halla-Whisperer, the first to be born in a century,” Assan said proudly. “The only others the halla let ride them was the Keeper of the Halla. My favourite was Nini, she was a beautifully gentle creature. I took her hunting with me, she was more of a friend to me than most of my clan, even as close as I was to them. My sister will take care of her until I return.”

A shadow fell over Assan’s face. “If I return,” he added gloomily.

“Now now, let’s not be pessimistic, a face as handsome as yours shouldn’t be mired in sadness,” Dorian said.

“Oh hush,” Assan dismissed. “I bet you say that to all the pretty elves,”

Dorian chuckled. “So far I haven’t met one prettier,”

“You always flatter me so much, what will people think?” Assan smirked.

“Assan if I may ask, what exactly is a Halla-Whisperer?”

“Halla-Whisperers are very rare, they have a natural ability to speak with the halla on a level other Dalish can’t,” Assan explained.

“You can speak to halla?” Dorian’s eyes widened. “Actually talk to them?”

“It’s not as simple as that.” Assan giggled at the awe-inspired look on Dorian’s face, “It’s not as if we can have a conversation like you and me. But Halla-Whisperers go beyond what is considered normal communication. Keepers of Halla can sense their basic needs because they’ve been trained to do so, so they know when halla need food or water or when they’re upset. A Halla-Whisperer can sense these things too, but without training. We know when a halla is upset and we can ask why, we can tell what food sources they dislike when getting fed, we can sense their fear and their emotion and where they’d like to go when they lead us along the plains. It’s sort of like mind-reading in a sense. We can also direct halla, give them directions and orders to follow if need be. If one of those halla down there became distressed by our presence for example, I could calm it down and tell it we mean no harm. It would trust me,”

“That’s incredible. I had no idea the Dalish possessed such power,”

“We don’t really. Like I said, I’m the first to be born to the Dalish in a hundred years. When I was six my skills started to emerge, the Keeper was thrilled. Said I was going to grow up to be a great Halla Keeper one day,”

“If you were meant to be a Halla Keeper, why are you a hunter?”

A shadow fell across Assan’s face, and he turned away, perching on the rock like a moody crow. He sighed.

“Something bad happened, and I changed my mind, that’s all.” He murmured. “You’re not really supposed to go against the future the Keeper sets for you, and she was especially reluctant to let me change my path as I was very skilled, but I insisted, and she relented.”

“What…what happened?” Dorian asked warily.

Assan bit his lip. “My sister…”

“Your sister?”

“I had two,” Assan said. “Now I have one. My elder sister was killed by some humans when I was young, and I grew so angry and bitter I insisted the Keeper let me become a hunter, so I could protect my clan.”

“I see. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s alright. It was a long time ago,” Assan sighed. “I wonder sometimes if I would have been happier following my intended path, but I’ll never know now.”

“Your life sounds like it’s been hard,”

“Oh, not so much. I’m not so upset with my current life, it has its good moments.”

“Like me of course, I’m your ray of sunshine.” Dorian grinned.

Assan laughed. “Your spells are certainly as bright as daylight.”

“You mean like your smile?”

Assan flushed and ducked his head. “W-We should catch up to the others,”

Dorian chuckled as he watched the awkward elf scramble back down to the others.

He was going to enjoy getting to know the Inquisitor better. He liked him. Maybe a little too much.

 

 


End file.
